I showered, then changed into some clothes Lark provided. She bandaged my feet with gentle hands and efficient movements, not asking questions about how I’d gotten so torn up. She offered food—a sandwich, soup, anything I wanted—but the thought of eating made my stomach clench. She showed me to a guest room with a comfortable bed and soft sheets.
I couldn’t sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Coop fighting Oliver. Saw myself driving away.
An hour later, I sat on her front porch, wrapped in a blanket she’d pressed into my hands, staring at nothing. Horses in the nearest pasture. A llama regarding me with magnificent disdain from his enclosure. Dogs wandering freely, some napping in patches of sunlight, others playing in the grass.
The property was beautiful. Peaceful in a way that felt almost aggressive, like the land itself was demanding I calm down.
I couldn’t appreciate any of it.
“Mia.”
Lark’s voice came from behind me, soft and careful. I hadn’t heard the door open.
“You should get some sleep.”
I shook my head without turning. “I can’t.”
“I know it feels impossible right now. But your body needs rest. Everything will feel more manageable after you’ve slept.”
“Will it?”
The words came out bitter. I immediately wished I could take them back—Lark was being kind, and I was snapping at her like a wounded animal.
But she didn’t react to my tone. She just stood there, her presence calm and solid, looking out at the same view I couldn’t appreciate.
“Maybe not,” she admitted. “But exhaustion makes everything harder. Including waiting.”
Waiting. That’s what this was. Waiting to hear if he was alive or dead.
“Come help me with the barn chores.”
I turned, surprised by the shift.
“I’m not going to force you to sleep.” She shrugged. “But if you’re going to be awake anyway, you might as well be useful. Keeping your hands busy sometimes helps quiet the brain.”
No platitudes about how everything would be fine. No empty promises. Just an invitation to do something other than drown.
“Okay.”
The barn smelled like hay and horse and something earthy that should have been unpleasant but somehow wasn’t.
I was still in a haze. The world felt muffled, distant, like I was watching everything through frosted glass. Lark’s voice reached me, but the words took too long to process, arriving seconds after she’d spoken them.
“This is Maverick’s grain.” She held up a scoop, gesturing to a laminated card on the stall door. “He gets two scoops in the morning, one in the evening. The evening feed is lighter because he tends to develop colic if?—”
I nodded. The information slid right through me, unable to find purchase.
Lark noticed. Of course she did.
“You know what? Let me just show you.” Her voice shifted, gentler now—the way you’d talk to a child or someone who’d just received devastating news. “Watch what I do, and don’t worry about remembering anything.”
She walked me through the evening feeding step by step.Here’s where the grain is stored. Here’s how much each horse gets. This one has special supplements. That one needs his hay soaked.
I couldn’t have repeated it back if my life depended on it.
I followed her movements, mimicking what she did, letting muscle memory take over where conscious thought failed. Scoop the grain. Pour it in the bucket. Carry it to the stall. Repeat.
